Harry Potter 1. Traces Of Her

  


I hate this room. This bed. She is still here, in many ways. The faint scent of vanilla still lingers on the emerald sheets. Her cloak is in the corner where she left it that last night. And when I lay here –as I am now– with my eyes closed, I can hear the soft echo of her voice. That, coupled with her scent, and I can almost pretend that she is here. Almost. The bed is far too cold without her next to me. Too large. Too empty. Funny, I never thought I would lose anything worth missing. Then I lost her. 

I rarely ever sleep anymore. My eyes are rimmed with shadows, my skin even paler than usual. But I cannot sleep. When I do, my mind is filled with ghastly images. Don't get me wrong, I have seen many things. Done many things. The hideous mark on my arm is proof enough of that. But nothing could have ever prepared me for the sight that awaited me that night, just outside the dungeons. Potter hovering over her, his hands bruising her delicate throat. Her once sparkling brown eyes now blank and unseeing. Her ivory skin tinged with blue. Her fiery hair fanned out behind her like a river. I can see it so clearly, even now.

  


I should have done something. Anything. I have told myself this a thousand times. Dumbledore tells me not to dwell on regrets. But how is it possible not to? This is a new feeling for me, this guilt. I think she is perhaps the first person to have ever made me feel it. I don't like it at all. Yet I am flooded with it. She deserved to live. Not I. But it seems that life and death have no capacity for fairness. That is one thing that all the money and power in the world cannot change.

  


*

  


I am still awake when the sun rises. When the first rays of light dance across the dark room. I cross to my wardrobe, trying not to look outside. The crimson color of the sky reminds me far too much of her amazingly soft hair. I pull out a pair of black trousers, a black shirt, and my school robes, and dress quickly. Purely out of habit, I examine myself in the mirror.

  


"Well, don't we look happy today?" the mirror remarks sarcastically. "You really should tidy your hair a bit, dear."

  


"Bugger off," I mutter angrily, even though it is correct. My pale hair is sticking up in every direction.It hardly looks out of place, though, next to my ghostly pale skin and haunted eyes. 

  


"Well!" the mirror exclaims. "You don't have to be so rude. It was only a suggestion."

  


I sigh heavily and turn away. I am exhausted, as usual. I throw my cloak over my shoulders, my eyes flicking to the heap of black fabric in the corner. Another harsh reminder of her absence. With heavy thoughts clouding my mind, I leave for breakfast.

  


*

  


Crabbe is talking to me. Well, making guttural noises in my direction. But my eyes and thoughts rest on the Gryffindor table. It is a rather odd scene. The boy with the camera – Colin, I think his name is – doesn't talk much anymore. There is an empty space beside him where she used to sit. A few seats down, Granger is eating in silence, watching Weasley– no, Ron– with worry in her eyes. He is looking down at the table, his expression one of stone. He could not handle losing his sister, much less finding out that it was the fault of his best friend. Guilt and anger drove him to seek refuge in silence, leaving Hermione to cope on her own. No one sits near them, as if the very memory of what happened is enough to damn them all. But the other end of the long, rectangular table is bursting with energy. Girls huddling together and whispering the newest gossip into eager ears, their giggles loud and obnoxious. Boys chuckling at their own jokes and stuffing their faces with food. Attempting to balance out the melancholy atmosphere. And failing miserably.

  


No one in my house says a word about Ginny. They know, of course, the reason for my distant behavior. When first she died, and I entered the common room with tears staining my face, they all gaped at me in shock. Draco Malfoy, crying? Marcus Flint had the nerve to approach me. 

  


_"What's the matter? Did the little Weasley slut turn out to be bad in bed?"_

  


I must say, blood did not match his complexion well at all. His nose was broken, his ribs bruised. I think it pretty much got the message across. After that, it was an unwritten law within Slytherin house not to say anything even remotely degrading about the late Ginny Weasley. Crabbe and Goyle, coupled with the threat of my well proven combat skills, kept them quiet. And, miraculously, my father seems to be still in the dark. Which is a very good thing for me. 

  


"Draco?"

  


Blaise Zabini's tentative voice breaks through my reverie. I look at her, then back at the Gryffindor table. 

  


"Morning, Blaise." 

  


She follows my gaze, sliding down to sit beside me. "It's really very sad, isn't it? What happened to them, I mean." She frowns slightly, sympathy shining through her sapphire eyes. Blaise and I became friends shortly after Ginny's death. Unlike the others, she was understanding.

  


"Yes," I agree.

  


She looks over at me. "You really miss her, don't you?" she asks gently, almost a whisper. She is so nice, it sometimes make me wonder how she got into Slytherin. 

  


I sigh and nod. There is silence for a moment. I watch as a grin slowly creeps over her round features, a glint in her eyes. In that moment, she reminds me of Ginny. I wonder what she is thinking.

  


"Draco . . ." Her voice has a certain lilt to it.

  


"Yes?"

  


"What if I told you that there might be a way?"

  


"A way to what?" I ask.

  


She simply grins at me, that gleam in her eyes bordering on maniacal, and says, "You'll see."

  


I push down the wave of irritation rising within me. "You know, I sometimes wonder, 'How did someone as nice as you get put into Slytherin?' And now I know why. You're planning something, I know it."

  


She rises to her feet. "Maybe I am. You'll just have to wait and see."

  
  
  



	2. Facing The Consequences

Chapter 2: Facing The Consequences

  


"Draco, wake up!"

  


The sound of a hushed but familiar voice cuts through my light sleep, causing me to jolt upright. Blaise is kneeling beside me, her blue eyes shining in the darkness and a serious look on her face.

  


"Merlin, Blaise! What the hell are you doing here?" I whisper harshly, running a hand over my hair.

  


"Get up," she says flatly, rising to her feet.

  


"What? Why?"

  


She sighs. "Draco, just get up and get dressed. Meet me in the common room in five minutes." 

  


Without allowing me time to respond, she leaves the room, shutting the door behind her.

  


I stay still, stunned, for a moment, before throwing the thick blanket away from my legs and placing my feet on the floor. I walk to the wardrobe and grasp blindly for clothing. I throw on a pair of plain black trousers and a black jumper and my only pair of tennis shoes, a gift from Blaise, before making my way down to the common room.

  


Blaise is seated on a large, jade green couch, the fire burning softly in front of her, surrounded by the rich decor that is Slytherin house. She looks up as I approach, the dancing flames reflected in her eyes, and I feel my heart lurch as I think of Ginny, of how this could be her. I jerk myself out of these thoughts when I feel her place a hand on my shoulder.

  


"Draco, are you ready?"

  


I don't even bother to ask where we are going. Suddenly it doesn't really matter. I nod numbly and allow her to lead me to the portrait hole. 

  


*

  


"What is this?" I ask incredulously as Blaise points her wand at the door and mutters a locking spell. 

  


"This is the Charms classroom, of course," she replies, tucking her black hair behind her ears. 

  


"I know that," I snap back at her. I glance around the empty classroom. This is where Ginny and I had our daily meetings, as Blaise knows. I don't know why she would bring me here. The air is so thick with memories that it is nearly suffocating. "But why the hell did you bring me back here?"

  


"Ah. You see this?" she asks, gesturing at an area of the floor arranged with several candles, a rather large book, and a bowl of what appears to be water. I nod. 

  


"Well, I have found a spell that I think might help you."

  


My heart gives a running leap. "What kind of a spell?"

  


"A time travel spell," she answers, as if it should be obvious.

  


Had I been one of those Muggle cartoons, my jaw would have dropped off its hinges. 

  


"A time travel spell," I repeat flatly. 

  


"You heard me." 

  


"Blaise," I grind out, "Time travel is one of the most advanced forms of magic."

  


"Don't forget dangerous," she points out. 

  


I give her a cold glance. "Don't joke with me."

  


She sighs. "Look, Draco, it's really very simple. You couldn't save her the first time. Here is your second chance. Is it worth it? Is she?"

  


Her words bring a sharp pain to my stomach. Reluctantly, I nod.

  


"Then let's get started."

  


*

  


"Now what?" I ask. 

  


She glances down at the book. "Now, you use the knife to make a small cut in your wrist."

  


"What?"

  


She gives me a look that clearly says ,"Just do it."

  


Scowling, I draw the blade over the tender flesh on the underside of my arm. Blood immediately gushes to the surface, running in tiny streams down the pale skin. I look at her for more instruction and she gestures to the bowl. I position my arm over it. One drop of blood falls, and the clear liquid instantly changes to a violent shade of red.

  


"Keeper of time, we implore thee

By the blood of the suffering

Grant us passage through your gates

To right what has been wronged"

  


As Blaise speaks, I close my eyes, waiting for the spell to take effect. Once her voice fades, I slowly re-open them. My heart sinks as I take in the candles surrounding me, the open spell book. Tears spring to my eyes. _It didn't work. It didn't work, and now I'll never have her back. _Blaise's eyes flood with sympathy and disappointment. __

  
  


"Draco, I'm sor–"

  


"Save it, Zabini. This whole thing was stupid anyway."

  


Her eyes flash with hurt, but I can not find it in me to apologize. She gave me hope, and then ripped it away. My one chance, gone. I rise to my feet in one swift motion and stalk to the door, practically spitting out the Alohomora spell. Somehow, I find my way back to my bedroom, stumbling into the bed. I close my eyes and soon fall into a fitful sleep.

  
  


_The school had an air of emptiness: all the corridors abandoned and the classrooms bare. He was searching frantically for someone. Who, he didn't know. He threw open every classroom door and searched every dormitory. and still he found no one. He was on the verge of giving up when a scream cut through the still air. It was horrible, full of terror. It didn't end, but continued to ring out like the wail of a banshee. His feet moved before he could think about it, following the sound. He found himself in a darkened corner just outside of the dungeon. The screaming ceased, the air around him once again silent. Something told him to look down, and he did. He wished he hadn't._

  


_There, sprawled on the floor, was the girl he had been looking for. Her beautiful red hair was all around her, framing her paper white skin. Her dark eyes were blank, her lips slightly parted. The skin on her neck was bruised. He sensed a presence behind him and whirled around._

  


_There she was again, the only difference that her eyes were focused upon him._

  


_"Why didn't you help me, Draco? I needed you. Why weren't you there?"_

  


_He opened his mouth to respond, but the words died in his throat as she morphed into Potter._

  


_"You couldn't save her," Potter said, giving each word an edge like a blade. "You're not good for anything. You might as well have been the one that strangled her. Yes, I was the one whose hands took her life. But I was acting under a potion. What excuse do you have?"_

  


_"I tried," Draco said weakly. _

  


_Potter quickly became Lucius Malfoy. "Trying isn't good enough, stupid boy. You must get it right the first time, or face the consequences."_

  


_Lucius became Ginny once again. "It's your fault, Draco. You didn't help me, and now I'm gone. And it's all your fault."_

  


_*_

  


Meanwhile, in the empty Charms classroom, someone awakens from a very long sleep . . . 

  



	3. Haunted

Chapter 3: Haunted

  


Th next morning, I wake up to realize that I fell asleep still fully dressed, and that my clothes are now severely wrinkled. I take them off and cast a smoothing charm over them before pulling out a new outfit. Amazingly, the shirt is one of my few that is not black. Instead, it is a gray that almost matches my eyes. I take my time, stalling as long as humanly possible, before finally giving up and going down to breakfast. Blaise is sitting by herself, her eyes downcast and her chin in her hand, completely neglecting the bowl of porridge in front of her. I hesitate for a moment before sliding into the seat across from her. She doesn't look up at me, but mumbles a hello.

  


After a few moments of silence, and after I begin to drum my fingertips on the table, I rack my brain for something casual to say. Finally I settle on, "Nice weather, isn't it?"

  


"Mmm," Blaise replies.

  


I sigh and bring my fist down on the table top. She glances up at me.

  


"I'm sorry," I say between gritted teeth. 

  


"Are you?" She arches an eyebrow.

  


"I said I was, didn't I?" I answer angrily. " Damn it, you're impossible. Just like–" I break off, my eyes widening. I almost said 'Ginny'. Almost. 

  


I see the scowl drop from Blaise's face as she regards me with something like pity. I hate pity, no less coming from her.

  


"Don't look at me like that," I snap.

  


She nods in understanding. "I'm sorry, too. I shouldn't have said anything about the spell until I was sure."

  


I sigh again. "She's gone. She's really gone. And it's all my fault."

  


"Draco, no," she says, shaking her head, but I continue as if she hasn't spoken.

  


"I've never really felt guilty for anything in my life. But this . . . this is killing me. I should have done something."

  


"You did all that you could," Blaise says softly, her voice thick. I look down at my hands. 

  


"What if– What if she thinks I abandoned her?" I look back up at Blaise, who looks on the verge of tears. "I had a dream last night, and she was there. Like she is every night. Only . . . this time was different. She was there, and she asked me why I didn't help her."

  


I close my eyes, images from the dream flashing behind my eyelids and Ginny's breaking voice filling my ears. I don't explain the part about Potter, or my father. The messages were pretty much the same. When I finally open my eyes again, Blaise puts her hand over mine.

  


"Draco, it is not your fault. You have to accept that."

  


I try to focus on her words but Potter's words are haunting me.

  


_"You might as well have been the one that strangled her. Yes, I was the one whose hands took her life. But I was acting under a potion. What excuse do you have?"_

  


Feeling sick, I stand up and gather my books. 

  


"Draco, where are you going?"

  


Unable to find my voice, I shake my head and walk as quickly as I can away from the table, careful not to look at the Gryffindors, or think about the one who should be sitting there, and isn't. 

  


*

  


The rest of the day goes by in a haze. Potions is eerily quiet, as it has been since Ginny's death cast its shadow over most of Gryffindor house. Granger's hands stay folded on the table in front of her, no longer shooting up as soon as a question is asked. Ron is beside her but may as well be miles away. Snape has become less strict, even a tad sympathetic, towards them. He goes on with his in depth discussion on sleeping potions, occasionally getting help from a few ambitious Slytherins. I could not tell you what we talked about in Transfiguration or History of Magic. By then my thoughts are entirely elsewhere. If McGonagall notices she doesn't say anything. And Professor Binns wouldn't notice if a student performed an Unforgivable in the middle of a lesson. 

  


Wanting to get a class summary from Blaise, I force myself to go to the Great Hall for dinner. 

  


"Hello, Blaise," I say, sitting down across from her. 

  


"You need my notes, don't you?" 

  


I nod. "I was a little . . . out of it."

  


"I noticed," she replies wryly, but hands me a small stack of parchments. The notes are neat and organized, as always. This is far from the first time I have needed them. 

  


"Thanks," I say, and move to stand up.

  


"Where do you think you're going?" she asks, narrowing her eyes.

  


"Back to the dungeons."

  


She leans across the table and pulls me back down by my wrist. "Oh no you don't." She points at my now full plate. "Eat."

  


Her voice leaves no room for disagreement. I pick up my fork and give her a scathing look. "Alright, _mother_."

  


She chuckles as I take a bite of potato and give her my sweetest smile. 

  


"Whatever you say," she says amiably. "As long as you eat."

  


*

  


Somehow, Blaise convinces me to stay up and play Exploding Snap with her. I find myself actually laughing when she asks, with a grave expression, whether I think Snape wears boxers of briefs. 

  


"That's an easy one," I reply, deadpan. "He prefers boxers, especially ones that sing."

  


She raises one eyebrow. "And how would you know?"

  


"Isn't it obvious? He and I are having a steamy love affair. Have been for months now. "

  


She giggles madly, but her laughter becomes a yawn. 

  


"Tired?" I ask.

  


"Just a tad."

  


"Well, it's nearly two in the morning, so it's not all that surprising."

  


Her eyes widen in panic. "Two?? Oh no! We have classes in only a few hours! Oh, I have to go to bed, Draco. I'm sorry."

  


With that, she races up the steps to her dorm. The common room is empty, and far too quiet. I stay for a few more minutes before returning to my room. I lie awake for nearly three hours before falling into a troubled sleep, Ginny's face in my mind. 

  
  
  
  



	4. Return To The Living

Chapter 4: Return To The Living

  


She walks through the corridors as if in a dream. Everything looks slightly blurred, the sensations are oddly unfamiliar. She trips over her own feet and scolds herself for being so clumsy. 

  


She walks for what seems like hours before her legs are screaming in protest. She looks around anxiously, trying to remember the way to her common room. _What is wrong with me today? _

  


It feels like an eternity before she finds herself in front of the Fat Lady's portrait. Why is she looking at her like that? She mutters the password and stumbles into the common room. She makes it to the couch before she collapses. Her eyelids grow heavier and heavier. Her limbs feel like lead. She closes her eyes and gives in to sleep. 

  


~*~

  


_She is running down an empty corridor, her heart pounding in her rib cage and tears streaming out of her eyes. There are hurried footsteps approaching, causing a sense of icy panic to grip her like a vise. _

  


_She ducks into a corner and curls into a ball, sobbing into her knees and praying she will not be heard. _

  


_A distorted face split into a maniacal grin appears in front of her. She tries to run again, but the person stops her. She finds herself pinned under their heavy weight, their hands around her throat. She beats her fists against them and tries to scream. But no sound comes out. _

  
  


_~*~_

  


She awakens when she falls to the floor. She opens her eyes and finds herself staring into a familiar face. 

  


Ron is towering above her, his brown eyes wild and his hand raised and clenched into a fist, as if ready to strike her. Hermione stands a few inches behind him, her face pale white and her hand over her mouth. 

  


Ron's fist swings down. She dodges out of its way, scrambles to her feet, and looks at him in bewilderment, her heart pounding. 

  


"Ron, what are you doing?!?"

  


"You're - Not -Real!" he grinds out through clenched teeth, attempting to punch her again and again, and each time barely missing. 

  


Her heart drops into her stomach. "Of course I'm real!" she says, feeling slightly sick. 

  


"No! Leave me alone! Stop tricking me!"

  


She looks at Hermione for an explanation. Hermione merely takes a step backward, shaking her head as if in disbelief. She notices that she looks as if she hasn't had a decent night's sleep in several weeks. 

  


"I'm not tricking you! Ron, what is wrong with you?"

  


He puts his hands over his ears and sinks to the floor, drawing his knees close to his chest as tears begin to fall down his pale and freckled cheeks. 

  


"You're not real. You're dead. You're dead. You're dead."

  


Everyone in the common room is staring, their eyes moving from her to Ron and then back again. All of them look as if they have seen a ghost. 

  


Feeling tears sting her eyes, she takes a few steps back, then turns and runs out, the portrait swinging closed behind her. 

  


~*~

  


She runs blindly down the corridors, not knowing or caring where she is going. 

  


_"You're dead."_

  


Her head is spinning. She feels like she may be sick. 

  


_"You're dead."_

  


She collides with someone, hard, and falls to the floor. 

  


_"You're dead."_

  


She wipes tears from her eyes to clear her vision and looks up. A boy with pale skin and eyes and hair is looking down at her, his face bearing the same expression as those in the Gryffindor common room. 

  


"Ginny?"

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	5. It worked!

Chapter 5: "It worked!"

  


She jumps to her feet and attempts to make herself look more presentable. Of course Draco has to find her when she feels like she is going insane. 

  


She opens her mouth to ask what he is doing here. The words die on her lips as he pulls her to him in a fierce embrace.

  


"It's really you. God, it's really you," he whispers as he holds her tightly, taking deep breaths as if trying to inhale her.

  


He pulls back after a minute to look at her, one hand moving to sweep her hair behind her ear. 

  


"Of course it's me, Draco. Who else would it be?"

  


He smiles then, a smile so bright that it scares her coming from him. His eyes are sparkling. "Then..the spell worked."

  


"What spell? Draco, are you feeling alright?"

  


He doesn't seem to hear her. 

  


"I've got to tell Blaise," he exclaims, grabbing her hand and pulling her with him as he turns.

  


As he leads her down the corridor, she cries, "Blaise Zabini? Have you gone nuts??!"

  


He doesn't speak as he leads her through the Slytherin common room. Pansy Parkinson is seated on the black leather couch. 

  


"Pansy, Pansy, have you seen Blaise?"

  


The blonde girl looks up from the book she is holding. "Yes, she–" Her words break off and her eyes widen as she sees Ginny. "What the–?" 

  


"Never mind," Draco says impatiently. "Where is Blaise?"

  


"She's in her room, studying, as usual."

  


"Then go get her," he says shortly, the old edge creeping back into his voice.

  


Pansy nods mutely, sets down the book, and throws another bewildered look at Ginny before running up the spiral staircase to their left.

  


"Let's sit down," Draco says suddenly. She lowers herself onto the couch beside him, slowly, hesitantly. _What the hell is everyone smoking today?_

  


A few minutes later, a tall girl with dark hair steps off the stairs. She looks over at Draco, and when her eyes fall on Ginny her jaw drops.

  


Draco smiles broadly at her. "It worked, Blaise. It worked."

  


The girl steps toward them, stopping a few feet away. She gazes at Ginny as if Ginny is a new species in herself. 

  


"Oh my..."

  


"It actually worked," Draco repeats.

  


Blaise continues to stare, Draco continues to smile, and Ginny feels her patience draining. Finally, after what seems like an eternity of awkward silence, she takes a deep breath and jumps to her feet.

  


"Could someone PLEASE tell me WHAT THE HELL is going on??"

  


They both blink at her, their expressions bemused. 

  


"STOP LOOKING AT ME LIKE THAT! Why is everyone looking at me like that??"

  


"We're sorry, Ginny, it's just..so hard to believe that you're back," Blaise says softly.

  


"Back from where?? I haven't been gone!! Has everyone in this school gone fucking INSANE? First, my brother fucking attacks me, then, the whole of Gryffindor house gawks at me like a zoo animal, I get told that I'm dead, of all things, Draco drags me off like a kid leading their mom to a new toy in a department store, and now you are staring at me like you've never seen me before and saying 'It worked!' Well I'm just a little confused, and I would appreciate being told what the hell it was that 'worked' so well and WHY everyone seems to be under the impression that I'm DEAD!!"

  


There is another moment of silence in which Draco and Blaise exchange glances. Draco nods his head and Blaise sighs.

  


"Because," she begins, "Up until yesterday, you were."

  


Ginny feels the adrenaline rush leaving her. Her pulse is slowing, her breathing steadying, and the reality of what was just said slowly sinking in. 

  


A knot forms somewhere in her gut. She is having trouble finding her voice. 

  


"W-what?"

  
  
  
  
  
  



	6. My Hands Around Your Throat

Chapter 6: My Hands Around Your Throat

Ginny finds herself sinking onto the deep green couch, her hands falling awkwardly into her lap.

"You . . . You must be joking," she says shakily.

"Unfortunately, we're not," Blaise replies. Draco is staring at Ginny, his expression unreadable, but he seems to have lost his voice.

She opens and closes her mouth, obviously trying to absorb what she is being told. A few minutes pass in silence.

Finally, in a small voice, Ginny asks, "How long?"

She doesn't have to clarify. They both know what she means.

It is Draco who answers, sounding grim. "Sixty four days." His arms are crossed over his chest as he sits down next to Ginny. She looks up at Blaise.

"What -" She breaks off, dropping her gaze to her hands. She swallows once, then continues. "What happened?"

Blaise glances at Draco, to see if he wants to be the one to tell her. But judging by his stony expression, it seems to be up to her. She opens her mouth to begin, but Draco cuts her off.

"Potter killed you," he says, his voice low and hard.

Ginny's head jerks up. She looks confused, and smiles at him, as if she must have misunderstood. "What?"

Draco raises his eyes to hers, and she sees the fury gleaming in them.

"Potter. Killed. You."

The smile drops from Ginny's face, and Blaise looks at the pair of them, suddenly feeling very uncomfortable.

"Maybe we shouldn't do this right now," Blaise begins, but a cold glance from Draco shuts her up. Feeling sure she won't be missed, she slinks away and back up the stairs.

"What," Ginny says, her voice incredulous and accusatory, "exactly do you mean?"

"Exactly what I said."

Ginny gets to her feet, her small hands balled in fists at her sides and her brown eyes narrowed. "You're lying."

"Why would I lie to you?" He is getting angry. His jaw is clenched.

"Um, I don't know, maybe because you're Draco fucking Malfoy?" she replies sarcastically.

He jumps to his feet and grips her by her shoulders.

"I have never lied to you. Never. I'm telling you the truth, damn it. Harry Potter, the bloody hero of the whole fucking wizarding world, killed you. Not just killed you. _Murdered _you! He put his hands around your pretty little throat and kept them there, squeezing, until you stopped breathing," he said in a rush, his voice with an edge like glass. "Ask anyone in this whole school how Ginny Weasley died, and they will hang their heads and say his name."

He throws something across the room and it shatters as he catches his breath. She has sunk back onto the couch, her eyes trained on the floor.

"What . . . What happened to him?"

Draco sighs heavily and runs his hand over his face. "Well," he begins, his voice weary now rather than angry, "technically, he wasn't acting of his own accord, so he couldn't be charged. He was looking at a life sentence in Azkaban." Ginny gasped softly. "But when it was explained that he was under the influence of magic, they dropped the charges."

"So, nothing happened to him?"

"Nothing legal."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning . . . Meaning, he was never the same after what he did to you. He couldn't live with himself. I heard rumors that he was having nightmares about it. Hell, he even spoke to me about how guilty he felt. And, aside from all that, he missed you like hell, Red." Ginny looked surprised. "He was in love with you, Red." _And he wasn't the only one. _

"So what happened?"

"He tried to off himself. Now he's in the psych ward at St. Mungo's."

She was silent.

"Look, Red, don't blame yourself-"

"What magic was he acting under, Draco?"

"What?" he asked, caught off guard.

"When he killed me - When Harry killed me, what magic was influencing him?"

After a moment, Draco said," I'm not so sure -"

"Tell me, Malfoy."

The use of his last name let him know she wasn't playing around.

"A potion." 

"What sort?"

"A love potion. A love potion you gave him."


	7. Memories

Chapter 7 : Memories

Ginny stares at him in disbelief.

"A potion I –" She broke off, shaking her head. "No, I didn't, I couldn't. . ."

Draco sighs in frustration. "You can't have forgotten everything."

One look at her tells him she has, in fact, forgotten everything.

"Ginny – Virginia –"

"I like Ginny better," she mutters.

He inhales deeply. "Ginny, then. Don't you remember anything?"

"Well, I certainly don't remember DYING," she answers angrily.

"Yes, we have established that," he retorts, sounding just as angry. "Now stop being difficult and answer the fucking question."

"The truth is, I don't remember much of anything. Things are coming back to me. Fragments. Like pieces of a puzzle. But I can't place them together."

Kneeling in front of her, placing one hand over both of hers, he says,"Just tell me what you remember, as of this moment, and we'll take it from there."

Surprised by the gentleness in his voice, she looks down at his hand resting on hers, and nods.

"I remember . . .I remember a broken mirror."

She breaks off, looking at him questioningly.

"I don't know anything about a mirror, Red."

She looks down, as if angry at herself.

"But," he says suddenly," I do remember seeing blood on your hands. Like you had punched something."

She gazes down at her hands, stretching out her fingers and drawing them into a fist. Slowly, she says, "I think I remember. About the mirror, anyway. I was crying. He . . . he made me cry. He didn't want me."

She was remembering, as if it were yesterday. Remembering how she scrutinized her appearance in her dormitory mirror. How she found it unsatisfactory. It couldn't hold his attention. It wasn't good enough. How she had been angry at her reflection, and had driven her fist into the mirror in an effort to destroy it. But it could still be seen in the shards of glass.

"I . . . I was angry. I punched the mirror because I was so angry," she lied. He didn't need to know of her insecurities.

Draco's voice broke the tension. "What else do you remember?"

She closed her eyes, allowing herself to explore the depths of her mind. Images were flashing behind her eyes. She named them as they came, not stopping to ask for explanation.

"You and I meeting outside the Great Hall. You asking me if I have 'done it.' I say I have. But I'm not happy about it."

Draco remembers it as she retells it.

_"What do you know about guilt?"_

_"More than you would think, Weasley."_

"I'm in the Great Hall, eating dinner. I'm watching Harry. So is everyone else. He is acting a fool, dropping his fork, putting his elbow into food. He's just like me in my first year."

Draco remembers, with a grim smile, how the Slytherin house had laughed at that. But it is suddenly so unfunny he could cry.

"I'm at the Three Broomsticks with you. You're getting angry, and I'm saying something to calm you down."

_"You wouldn't hurt me?"_

_"How can you know that?"_

_"Because. You're not your father."_

"But then," she says, her voice sounding strained, "my brother is there. My brother, and Hermione –"

She looks at Draco, her eyes wide with panic. "And Harry."

"He's not happy," she continues, the panic creeping into her voice. "He's not happy at all. He wants me to leave and go with him. I say no, and– And –"

She breaks off. "And then, I'm with you, in your dorm. In your bed." Her cheeks redden slightly.

"Draco . . .Draco, is that when he –"

"No," Draco replies shortly. "No, all he did that night was bang you up pretty bad. But it was then that we figured out that something was seriously wrong with him."

She nods."I dressed your wounds. I saw – I saw the Mark. We talked about. . .about Tom."

Draco drops his gaze as he remembers.

_"He told me, he told me I was invisible. I'm meant to be alone . . . Why didn't I listen?" _

"You sent me to the Gryffindor tower to get my things."

Draco nods, encouraging her to keep going.

"I ran into– into– into Harry. He didn't do anything, but he frightened me just the same. I ran to you. To safety."

She looks up at him. "That– that's all I remember. I'm sorry."

"No," he says gently. "Don't be sorry. I can fill in the gaps from there, if that's quite alright."

She gapes at him. "Draco Malfoy, asking permission?"

He shrugs, looking almost sheepish, and she smiles weakly at him.

"You can, of course. But, can I ask something of you?"

"Anything," he says quickly. Too quickly. _Watch yourself, Draco._

If Malfoys blushed, he would have. But they don't. He is almost certain it is written in the family code somewhere.

Her smile widens and looks more genuine at that. "Can we finish this after lunch?"


	8. Balance

Chapter 8: Balance

But that was not to be, for as they approached the doors of the Great Hall, they found the Headmaster waiting for them. His blue eyes were cool behind his half-moon spectacles, even as he lifted his eyebrows.

"Miss Weasley, I must say it is surprising to see you. You look well."

Draco felt the heat rise to his cheeks. "Professor, I –"

"I have my suspicions as to what you have done, Mister Malfoy, but this is not the place to discuss such things. You two shall join me in my office. I shall ask the house elves to deliver your lunches there."

"Yes, sir," Draco conceded, looking at his feet.

"Very well, then. The password is 'cockroach clusters'." And, with an appraising glance at Ginny, the headmaster turned and went back into the Hall.

"Well," Ginny said, clearing her throat, "I suppose we'd better do what he asks, then."

"I suppose we should."

They began walking, their swinging hands almost touching, neither of them looking at each other.

"Draco?" Ginny piped up as they approached the gargoyles that guarded Dumbledore's office.

"Yes?"

"Why did you bring me back?" Though she was intently studying her shoelaces, he knew her cheeks were flushed, as they always were when she was embarrassed. A section of hair had fallen over eyes, and she was kneading her bottom lip with her teeth. It was all he could do to keep from pulling her to him and kissing her, letting her taste on his lips the pain he had felt for the past two months.

Instead, he shuffled his feet and cleared his throat. "I think we'd better go in."

"Necromancy is very dangerous, very illegal magic. As I'm sure you are aware of, Mister Malfoy." Dumbledore was staring at him with those clear, diamond-sharp blue eyes, and suddenly Draco felt very ashamed.

"I know, Professor, but -"

"No 'but's, Mister Malfoy. You could be thrown in Azkaban for this, as could your accomplice." At this, Draco's mouth gaped open in shock. _How did he know?_ "As I said, necromancy is very dangerous magic. It is also very complicated, and I highly doubt that a sixth year student, even with your background, could do it alone. I know someone helped you, and I have suspicions of who, but none of that matters now. What mattes now is making this right."

Ginny suddenly looked very frightened. "What do you mean, 'making it right', Professor?"

Dumbledore sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose before looking very sternly at her. "It means, Virginia, that your being alive is a violation of nature. It has thrown the order of things out of balance, and that balance must be restored."

She understood. So, of course, did Draco, and fury welled within his chest. "You mean she has to die again?! There's no way in hell I'm killing her, I worked so hard to get her back, you're mad if you think -"

"Draco," Dumbledore cut in, his voice as smooth and hard as glass, "I have no intention of asking you to murder Miss Weasley. That would be entirely too cruel. No, there are much simpler methods than that. There is a room in the Ministry of Magic that holds a gate between this world and the next. Miss Weasley would simply need to be taken there."

"My dad's never mentioned anything like that at the Ministry," Ginny muttered, her face very pale.

"No, he wouldn't have. Very few people know of that room, or the others like it."

Draco looked between them, his face going increasingly red as his knuckles turned white on the chair arms. "I don't care if she can take a hot air balloon back, the point is that she's not going! Her death was wrong to begin with, she was too young, she didn't deserve it!"

"Draco," Ginny whispered, putting her hand on his arm.

"No! You can't calm me down on this one, Ginny! He's trying to say dying was RIGHT!"

Dumbledore straightened his glasses, looking very old and very tired. "You're wrong, Mister Malfoy. I would never presume to say that a student's death is the right thing. It is tragic and unfair, and Miss Weasley's death was even more so. It was the result of flawed magic and unfathomable circumstances." Ginny stared at her hands, picking at the nailbeds, as a tear rolled down her cheek. "However, death cannot be undone without consequences. Consequences that are usually unforeseeable but unspeakably horrible. It is a risk we cannot take."

The room was silent. Draco found he could not argue, and as he realized what that meant, a heavy despair settled over him. He looked at Ginny, silently crying, and felt his heart break again. He wanted to touch her, to hold her close and ask her not to go, but he knew that would only make letting go harder in the end.

Instead, he raised his head, eyes stinging, and asked, "Can we have some time, to think about it?"

"Very well," Dumbledore said, standing. "One week. However, I must ask that Ginny remain away from the other students, especially the Gryffindors. I fear the shock would be too much for them."

Ginny's head shot up, her eyes puffy and her face streaked with still-flowing tears. "You mean I can't see Ron, or Hermione? I can't write to my family?"

The headmaster shook his head sadly. "I'm afraid not. It would only make it more difficult . . .in the end." He stooped next to her, placing a long, aged hand on her shoulder. "Ultimately, Ginny, this is your decision. I trust you will make the right one."

She nodded wordlessly, taking Draco's proffered hand and walking to the door. As it opened, the headmaster spoke one last time.

"I will see you in one week's time."


End file.

Harry Potter, Angst, Supernatural